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North American Dreaming: Painter's Brush

William Burkholder's poem reveals that our contacts with other people paint the canvas of our lives.

Those that come to us in moonlit serenade,
That become the sun's glimmer in our hearts,
That become at times,

The clouds of disdain;

Are like the bristles of the painters brush,
Individually leaving their mark;
Creating human masterpieces.

Of love and loss,
New found ideals and dreams,

In that,
If such things never occurred,
We would be but mere blank canvasses,

Stark and white,
In framed incarceration.


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